


Lunar Catalyst

by hikash0



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, BlackIce, Jack's dead in a lake, M/M, MIM being a jerk, MIM steals Jack, Pitch as a guardian...sorta, Pitch is a drama queen, Pitch loses Jack, Pitch loses it, kinda blackice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikash0/pseuds/hikash0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Moon takes away the only thing Pitch had left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunar Catalyst

The whiteness reminded him of the boy. The way he had watched as brown hair slowly changed to match the frost’s pale sheen. It was the same sheen that sprawled across the icy pond where had so recently made a habit of lying. He had come to like it, peering under through the darkness as only he could, gazing down deep below the swirling water where the body floated quietly. It gave him comfort, made him feel somehow useful, and he sometimes pretended that it was his duty to guard the boy.

The snow crackled beneath his feet as he stepped out from behind a tree, he walked in its shadow, making sure not to let the moonlight touch him. It was overcast, and yet the clouds were thin enough to let the silver beams shine through. They spilled around him here and there like daggers from the heavens, skewering hills of pale ice. He ascended a steep bank, feet skimming just on the surface, lifting the centimeter thin layer of newly deposited flakes without cracking the brittle shell beneath them. The other side of the pond came into view first and he sighed when he saw that the opposite bank was still wreathed in the darkness of the gnarled branches. It was a good sign: it meant he could watch the slumbering boy undisturbed.

He had noticed the boy little over a year ago, or rather, he had heard rumor of an enchanted pond haunted by perpetual winter. The shivering apprehension of the village storyteller as he recounted the tale had been a lovely rarity: a fear tinged with awe, and the possibility of the myth being a reality was too strong of a temptation to pass up. Summer was waning when he found it. The days were colder in this region but not nearly cold enough to warrant the stunning mirror of ice he beheld on that day. He returned later in the month on a night when the moon was missing from the sky. He remembered hesitating for only a moment before venturing out from the cover of the trees to test the ice. It stayed fast under his feet and the corners of his mouth had lifted in a minute smile, something he had not been able to manage in a very long time. Then, despite the darkness, an unexpectedly white blur had caught his eye. It-It was under the ice? He had been drawn to the lake the moment he became aware of it. There was magic here, certainly, but he had never given thought to the fact that there might be a tangible cause for the magic. He had quickly kneeled down and brushed the frigid glaze free of any stray flakes of ice, polishing the pond’s surface with the friction his shadows caused. It was then that he had been captivated.

Once he had looked, had really looked, there had been no turning away. A boy—a mere child by his standards—floated in the depths of the still waters. Thoughts raced through his mind, scenarios of how the body had gotten there. A corpse, a dead thing, a poor human fallen captive to a fickle and deceptive winter, a stupid child who hadn’t heeded his parents, who hadn’t been cautious, who wasn’t fearful, wasn’t—Wasn’t… dead? Or, at least not anymore… Of course not, white hair was reserved for the old and dying ones, not ones so young and… sublime. Fascinated, he had inched closer, so close that his nose had been pressed against the biting cold barrier between him and the boy. Shimmering white hair gradually taking over what he could only imagine to have been a natural brown, skin as pale as a dead thing’s should be, and yet not a corpse, not dead or bloated as a body underwater always was. The boy had been beautiful, and completely preserved. Suspended in animation, radiating a strange kind of magic and light, cold and quiet, waiting, waiting for something. He had felt the pull of that magic hook into him and could not look away. Night passed into daylight without him realizing, and it was only when he had felt the first rays of sunrise on his back that he awoke from his enchantment. He had gone then, never one partial to the daylight, but he had returned the next night, and the next, and the next, and the next. Every night like this for a year, even if doing so allowed the moonlight to spy on him at times, even if he really should have been terrorizing the humans into believing. He simply could not tear himself away. He still couldn’t.

Even now after a year, there was something calming about watching the floating child, something that quieted the shadows begging to rise up inside him. He was ignored by most, reduced to nothing but a pathetic whisper in the night, but these days it did not irk him as much as it had in the past. His once virulent plans for revenge had quieted some. It could wait, he told himself. What was another night, or ten? Besides, he wouldn’t want the frozen boy to think he had been abandoned. That would be thoughtless of him. Yes, he decided, he could wait. Those fools could have their moment of glory. After all, he had found something more precious than they could ever hope to have. Of that he was certain. It was with this thought in mind and a rare smile on his lips that he took the final step towards the lake, towards the boy, his boy.

He crested the bank and his contentment shriveled. A gaping chasm had been violently wrenched open in the center of the pond. Black water lapped at the sides, rippling and seeming to jeer at him. His eyes darted around, searching frantically as his pulse slammed beneath his skin. There was nothing above the surface or in the forest, no white hair, no lingering magic, no calm, not anymore. The quiet too, gone. It had been shattered the instant blood started rushing in his ears. He cast away caution and broke into a sprint. The snow beneath him caved and he sunk in knee deep, struggling frantically forward towards the split seam in the ice. White powder and chunks of packed sown broke away and trailed behind him onto the slippery surface. They skidded and rolled before coming to a flat stop near the edge of the watery mouth. He threw himself on his knees and clutched at the suppurated edges for purchase before thrusting his head into the frigid depths.

He searched, his eyes burning with the cold. Searched harder than he’d ever looked for anything in all his life. There was nothing but murky water, nothing but debris and a pond rife with mud where the bottom had been churned up. He gasped, unable to stand the temperature, and pulled up from the surface. His breath rolled and frothed like pure white smoke and his shoulders heaved with panic. Again he submerged himself, freezing the nerves in his face and hands past the point of pain. He found nothing. The boy was gone. He scrambled backwards, dark hair dripping in his eyes, mouth slackened, bleeding frosted oxygen into the air. He could only gasp for breath, unable to make a sound because the shadows did not lie to him. He had looked, had checked deep within the dark water and still the boy was gone, GONE. And he didn’t know what to do and WHERE was the boy? He was supposed to watch over the boy! His hands creaked as shards of ice flaked off of them like a second skin. They were beyond cold and his face hurt but he registered none of it. He had to find the boy! He had to find him! He—Panic speared his heart quite abruptly and he clutched his head into his hands, at a complete loss. He choked for air, trying and failing to draw breath, as if he had been winded, the world felt as if it was closing in, the boy, the boy, the boy, the boy! He finally drew air into his lungs and it was then that the beginnings of a dry sob tumbled out.

He was not given a moment’s peace, for at that very moment the clouds parted and a single moonbeam hit his back. He jerked up and away, away from the pond and the emptiness that it stirred inside him, away from the accursed spying, prying eyes of the moon. He slunk into the shadows, a wounded beast searching for something to snap at. As if a deathblow had been needed, the clouds continued to fade until the full light of the heavenly planetoid honed in on the gaping hollow in the ice. It was then that he understood. Tears fell from his eyes and his throat ached with the force of his loss.

"You… how could you take him from me?" he whispered, "This one small thing, the only thing I had left."

There was no answer, there never was, at least not for him. There was only silence and the cruel light that hurt him so much. He shook, his mind reeled, his body hurt. What was this wound in his chest? He clutched a hand to it, digging sharply into the space between his bones. IT HURT. The shadows within rose up again and feasted gleefully, feasted on that spot beneath his hand until unbearable pain bled into bitterness and bitterness became hate. He screamed. Gathering the darkness to him like a great cloak. He grew, towering over the pond and consuming the forest with blackness. He could not stop crying and the sky and moon became blurred until one was indistinguishable from the other. Finally with a hiss he melted into the night, scattering shadows like spatters of ink. The pond darkened, the rippling water stilled and the trees hushed. Even the wind dropped away, as if a heavy blanket had been placed to muffle all sound. His parting words however echoed with a clear promise.

“You’re going to pay. You’re all going to pay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is old but I figure I'd post it since I can't seem to sleep. Hope you like it.


End file.
